Even though HorrorPops' Patricia Day alleges that there are only four rock venues in the entire country of Denmark, she never crossed paths with her bandmate and partner Kim Nekroman in their native Copenhagen. It was at a festival in Germany that the two were finally introduced, whereupon they commenced to swap both spit and musical ideas. Out of that blessed union came HorrorPops, a firecracker party band with no allegiance to any particular style but flush with try-anything zeal and a commitment to good times. Determined to upend any expectations-Day played guitar with the fast-and-nasty punks Peanut Pump Gun while Nekroman is well-known on the psychobilly circuit as the bassist in Nekromantix-the two musicians made the first in a career-defining series of perverse decisions by also swapping instruments. Fleshing out the band with old friends and a couple of cartoonishly snotty go-go dancers, HorrorPops set about patching together Hell Yeah, an album that pitches wantonly from the frat-party ska of "Girl in a Cage" to Dick Dale reverb workouts like "Horrorbeach" and all points in between. Amidst all this is any number of energetically mounted pop gems, most notably the single "Miss Take", which, if it can be categorized at all, should simply be filed under damn good. The only constant in the entire mix, aside from a deep well of vitality and good nature, is the insistent clicking sound that leaps from Day's ubiquitous upright bass.

Having caught the ear of another compulsive multidisciplinarian, Rancid's Tim Armstrong, Hell Yeah debuted in North America on his Hellcat Records imprint. With this sweeping advance in HorrorPops' fortunes, not to mention an almighty buzz on both sides of the Atlantic, the slightly reconfigured band now finds itself in L.A., where no less an eminence than Epitaph head Brett Gurewitz is putting the final production touches on its forthcoming album, Bring it On. Calling from the studio, Day scoffs at any suggestion that HorrorPops' growing stature has turned her into a terminally dissatisfied muso poring over the mixing process with a furrowed brow and a healthy temper. "No," she demurs in a provocatively hoarse voice that hints at a life lived fully and loudly, "the only thing I pour over the mixing desk is if I drop a cup of coffee. I'm not generally a big fan of being in the studio. For me it's just a means to get on the road."

Day claims that working so closely with the label head has distinct advantages. "We have a direct link to the money," she laughs, adding, "He's amazing. We've got the biggest, fattest, craziest sound I've ever fuckin' heard." He's apparently quite taken with that big ol' bass, too, though Patricia has a more complex relationship with the instrument. "He thinks it's the coolest instrument he's ever recorded and he loves it. I would even say he loves it a bit too much," she groans. "It's a big fucking piece of shit to play. It's heavy, it's mean, it's physically demanding. I've grown arm muscles. The good thing about playing the bass is that whenever I feel fat I can hide behind it."

The slaphappy musician punctuates her conversation with frequent bursts of giggles and knowing laughter, which jibes perfectly with HorrorPops' overarching sense of fun. The band's anything-goes philosophy is obvious in its visuals, which range from dancers Mille and No No's rah-rah skirts and undies to Nekroman's machine-tooled quiff to Patricia's post-coital bride-of-Frankenstein black-and-white dye job. Meanwhile, the entire band offers a panorama of hardcore tats stretching from one end of the stage to the other. Its musical mandate is dead serious, though: Day and Nekroman insist on a totally democratic approach to all idioms, finessed into a signature blend they call, naturally, horrorpop. She maintains: "If someone in the band says, 'Let's do a song by Poison or Dolly Parton,' or whatever, we can do it." Not that such encyclopedic influences can't also create problems, especially in the pressure-cooker environment of the tour van.

"We don't listen to music. We're six people, right? This is also the reason for the diversity in the music. We cannot agree on one single band we all like. We tried listening to music in the van and we stopped the van and we got into a fistfight. Seriously. It's that bad, so we all sit there with headphones on."

Fistfights aside, Day is looking forward to her band's first Canadian tour as she anticipates a more European flavour up here in Canuckistan. She remains bemused by America's culture wars, commenting, "It seems ridiculous to me. I almost can't take it seriously because I can't grasp that it can be reality. It's weird, very weird." The back cover of Hell Yeah even contains a little visual zinger aimed at what Day perceives as America's overweening Puritanism-there's a little black star superimposed over her raised middle finger. "We're Danish, okay," she explains, "so the whole thing about not being able to say fuck and flip the finger and all that crap, it's not a part of our culture. We'll flip the finger at the teacher, at the cop, and we say fuck on television. We're not a religious country either."

These disillusionments are minor, though, and a palpable excitement animates Day's answers to any inquiries about her status as a transatlantic transplant in the Sunshine State. HorrorPops, as if it isn't already obvious, are in it for the kicks after all. "Oh, hell yeah!" she gushes, "It snowed last week in Copenhagen. Jesus, I can live without that!"

HorrorPops play the Brickyard on Saturday, April 30.